Spilt Milk and Candlelit Bromance
by The Wierd Kid
Summary: Craig could do without the same crazy, twitchy blond kid ruining every aspect of his life. SLASH. Creek.


A/N: (1st chapter is kinda short)

Okay so maybe this really, really sucks... I dunno. I'm just kinda writing this for fun- my definition of writing it for fun meaning: everything written here is most definitely from off the top of my head and it also might be a little cliched/unoriginal.

Warnings: SLASH, Creek, might eventually become rated "M"- depends, AU-ish. And all the other stuff is just, well... stuff that shouldn't be a problem if you're the type of person that watches South Park.

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**Chapter One****: Kind of a Prologue, But Not Really**

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If there's one thing that I hate more than spilt milk, it's the people that bitch and whine about it. Honestly- it just pisses me off. If there's a whole other fucking bunch of milk cartons right in front of you, then there is absolutely no reason to get all worked up about anything. And it's also not like you can't just grab one of the other milk cartons and get yourself some more- simple as that. And I'm not talking about crying over metaphorical spilt milk, either- though I'm pretty sure that I hate that too.

No. There is literally some idiot fucktard in front of me, flailing wildly and shrieking at a puddle of milk.

I seriously want to stab this douchebag a hundred times over with the block of cheese that I am currently holding. All I wanted was to gather groceries in peace, then get the hell home so that my mother could cook me some goddamned dinner- it's all I _fucking wanted_. But apparently, just one day of normalcy is too much to ask for, because some skinny-ass, blond idiot decided to bump into me, scream, and then throw the milk carton he was holding to the ground. And now there's a puddle of lactose-flavored cow shit spilled on the floor of the dairy section.

I hate everything.

I must have said that "cow shit" bit out loud, because said idiot turns to me and practically screams in my face, "O-Oh God! D-Don't fucking _say_ things like that! It's gross and disgusting and just- just- NASTY!" I don't even bother to correct the asshole by telling him that the adjectives that he'd just used all mean the exact same thing- _because they do_. Instead I just snarl at him to get his crazy, twitchy hand out of my face and shut the hell up. He does, but not because I told him to.

The crazy kid stops screaming at everything in sight and a sudden calm washes over his expression. "Monday- mashed potatoes, Tuesday- tofu and turnips, Wednesday- walnut salad, Thursday- tacos and tater tots, Friday- fava beans, Saturday- salad, Sunday- spaghetti." He just keeps repeating that in the same monotone voice, over and over.

_Okaaaay. Well _that_ isn't fucking weird. _I just raise an eyebrow at the lunatic, shove my cheese into my shopping cart and walk away, quickly, trying to pretend that nothing ever happened and I never got bumped into and I never witnessed that little freak-out.

Or at least, I_ try _to walk away.

"Ngh-! W-wait!"

Knowing that I'll most likely regret it, I stay put, letting out a heavy and irritated sigh. If I turn to look at him, I think I might just run him over with my shopping cart. My parents probably wouldn't appreciate having to hear that their son was jailed for brutally murdering someone with a shopping cart- _especially_ if I got blood all over their groceries.

So I just stand there, cursing everything in existence and resisting the overwhelming urge to shake my fist at the air, like a raging lunatic. I do, however, end up turning to face him when I feel a tiny little tug on my sleeve.

"_What._" I grind out, through clenched teeth. The fact that my stomach grumbled as I said it only serves to make me even more pissed off. _I am so fucking hungry right now, so hurry the fuck up. _I want to voice this, I really do, but something tells me that I shouldn't. Not because I care about being polite- I clearly don't- but because I have a feeling his reaction would be really fucking bothersome.

I watch blankly as he throws his arms up in front of his chest, as if to guard himself from my irritation. "S-sweet Jesus! I-I just..." He gestures to the puddle. His arm jerks, suddenly and it's only then that I notice that he's twitching violently. Now that I think about it, he's been twitching like that all this time. "A-aren't you going to clean that up?"

If I were anyone else, I probably would've stared at this bitch with an incredulous expression on my face, because _did he really just fucking ask me that_. But I'm Craig Tucker. So I just look from the puddle, then back to him. I flip him off, "No." Then I turn around_ again _and start to walk away _again_. But _again_, this kid just doesn't let me go and calls out to me.

A-_fucking_-gain.

"P-please! I-I can't do this myself, man! I d-don't want to go to jail! I won't be able to make it out alive and my parents will be _so disappointed_ in me and I'll die and my body will be left to rot and it'll be so _fucking unsanitary_ and my remains will be be devoured by mice and insects and rats _and I'll die_!"

And I don't even care what the hell all of that's supposed to mean, because the next thing I know, he latches himself onto me, clutching onto the hood of my dark blue jacket and making me lose my hold on my shopping cart. If there weren't any onlookers before, than there sure as hell are some, now. This whole thing is getting really stupidly unnecessary. I need to get out of this damn grocery store before someone calls security._  
_

I somehow manage to shove myself out of his death-grip. Then I, once again, show him the beauty of my favorite finger, before moving to show the crowd of bystanders the beauty of my favorite finger. I don't care to see their reactions, because I'm sure that they are all too amazed by the beauty to respond properly. So instead of waiting around, I re-obtain my shopping cart and move on in the direction of the cash register without another word.

This time, the twitchy kid doesn't try to stop me.

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When I relayed the tale of my amazing milk puddle adventure to Token and Clyde, they just laughed. Assholes. I voice that bit out loud, not forgetting to flip them off. But mainly Clyde, because he's even more of an asshole than Token... who isn't actually that much of an asshole, at all.

"Dude," says Asshole Clyde. "It's hilarious, though! Like, who the hell was that kid?"

I roll my eyes at him in response. "I told you- Just some random spazzy creep that tried to assrape me in the grocery store."

I punch Asshole Clyde in the stomach when he starts laughing again. "Fuck you. It's not funny." I allow myself to feel satisfied at his loud groan of pain.

Token hums thoughtfully. "Well speaking of spazzy people, Stan and Kyle told me that, because they're very influential students- or something like that- the Principal asked them to show the new kid around,-" Asshole Clyde interrupts.

"Whoawhoawhoa wait." Enter unnecessarily dramatic pause here. "What? Since when is there a new kid? Why haven't I heard of this?"

"Because you're a dipshit." I deadpan, even though I didn't know about that, either. It's Sunday, though, so it's not like anyone is going to go out of their way, just to tell me that there's going to be a new kid at our school. I only really talk -willingly- to Token and Clyde, anyway.

I look at Token, raising an eyebrow. "Okay. So what does this have to do with crazy spazzy people?"

"I was getting to that right before Clyde-" Cue sharp look in Asshole Clyde's direction "-interrupted me. Anyway, the Principal asked them to show the new kid around, make him feel welcome in town and all that. But they told me that when they took him out to show him around town, he kept freaking out about everything and rambling about how he was going to die and get raped in jail. From what they've told me, he was pretty much completely insane."

"Right." I give him a blank stare. "What would they care if he's insane? He'd fit right in with their group. Then they can be a bunch of crazy little shits, together. Besides we live in South_ fucking_ Park. What the hell were they expecting?" Stan and Kyle are such shitheads. I really, seriously hate them. I also really resent the fact that Token goes out of his way to associate with them. Because Stan's an emo pussy and Kyle is a ginger Jew rat. They both deserve to be axe-murdered in the face. End of story.

Token looks to Asshole Clyde for some sort of support, or something, but he merely shrugs in response. "Cartman is pretty insane, too, y'know..." The idiot says thoughtfully. Then he gasps. "Oh. My. God. What if Cartman is, like, the new kid in disguise, or something?"

Token is currently hiding his face in his hands and shaking his head slowly. _I know what you're going through buddy._

"Alright. We're done talking about this. I have now reached a point in the conversation where I have the strong urge to punch Clyde in the face."

My black friend looks up from his moment of misery to smile at me, knowingly. "But you _always_ have the strong urge to punch Clyde in the face."

I nod. "Point taken."

_..._

"OW! WHAT THE _FUCK_ CRAIG?!"

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A/N: Review, tell me what you guys think, etc. Like it? Hate it?_  
_


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